To Dwell on Dreams
by snapeslittleblackbuttons
Summary: She stole a look at him. Wrapped in his usual raven coat, he looked restrained, composed, disciplined; not the man from her dream that looked hungry enough to ravish her senseless. Severus Snape/Hermione Granger. A post-DH, SS/HG soul-mate romance. WINNER: First Place 2017 Haven Awards, Best Romance. Rated M for smut/strong language. Lemons! HEA.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary** : What will Severus and Hermione do when they discover they share an identical dream?

 **Rating** : MATURE for sexual content, and strong language (consider yourself warned)

 **Parings** : Severus Snape/Hermione Granger

 **Genre** : Romance/Fluff and Smut

 **Timeframe** : post DH plus epilogue

 **A/N** : Obviously, this is an EWE story. It also happens to be HEA. Please note that Hermione is an adult (of age in the wizarding world) in this story.

 **Disclaimer** : All things Harry Potter are the express property of J. K. Rowling (including "it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live"). I adore these characters, but I don't own them.

* * *

Hermione Granger tentatively cracked open one eyelid and was assaulted by the hostile sun glaring at her through the open drape of her dormitory window. _Bloody hell._ She closed her eye again. _Why does that slut insist on opening the curtains when she leaves every morning? I hope she chokes on his bloody tongue and gags on his…oh, whatthefuckever._

While it was difficult for Hermione to live with the seventh years, there simply wasn't any other place in the girls' dormitory for her. Since she was the only one in history to return for part of an eighth year, there had been no private room provided for her, war hero or not. Headmistress McGonagall had offered to allow her to reside in Hogsmeade since she was an adult, but Hermione had refused: the village was too far from the Hogwarts library. She only had to survive a scant twelve weeks before taking her specially-scheduled N.E.W.T.S. Hell, if she lived through months in a tent with boys with deplorable hygiene skills, she sure-as-shit could hold her own with some randy sixteen year old girls. At least girls smelled better.

Hermione abandoned any hope of falling back to sleep and made to get out of bed. _What the…?_ Moving, she found her panties were in a hopeless state. Wadded up and pushing into her sex, her underwear was stuck to her in unimaginable ways, still damp but a bit stiff from beginning to dry. She pulled them away from her body tentatively and realized she was experiencing the dull throb of a recent climax. It was then that she remembered her dream. Vividly. _Oh, shit. Who's the bloody slut now?_

 _He'd been standing in a doorway, a stone arch really, leaning against the grey with his arms folded and his feet crossed at the ankles. Her heart leapt. He wasn't wearing his usual black frock coat; instead he had on a finely cut white long sleeve button down shirt, exquisitely tailored black trousers, and black dress shoes. He had a sly smile on his face, as though he was not surprised to see her staring back at him from across the portico. Her flowy emerald green dress ended just above her knees; its neckline was cut into a deep V. She felt a heavy pendant pulling at her neck. She smiled at him and he reached out his hand; she crossed the flagstone to take it, entwining her fingers in his, pulling him back into the cottage. God, she adored this man. He began to kiss her. "Hermione," he said in his silky as sin voice around his kiss…_

Lovely. As if her life wasn't fucked up enough already, now she'd dreamed about shagging a former Death Eater turned spy—who was currently her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—until she couldn't walk straight. _Fab-u-lous._ Obviously, she was spending far too many hours overhearing her dull roommates detail their latest sexual exploits. She must find a way to spend a lot less time in her room.

Perhaps a shower and breakfast would help her with her plan.

When Hermione reached the Great Hall for breakfast, _he_ was already there, seated imperiously at the staff table next to Headmistress McGonagall, eating his breakfast while surveying the room. She stole a look at him. Wrapped in his usual raven coat, he looked restrained, composed, disciplined; not the man from her dream that looked hungry enough to ravish her senseless. As if he sensed her gaze on him, he turned, focusing a cold stare on her. She felt her face grow hot and hurriedly looked down at her toast. _Yeah, like I'll be able to block the most brilliant_ _Legilimens_ _in the world. Actually one look at me and he probably won't need his gift to know what I've been fantasizing about. Bloody fabulous._

* * *

Severus Snape was supposed to be dead.

Well, if not dead, at least safely incarcerated in Azkaban. And if not in Azkaban, at least vanished without a trace, out of every _decent_ wizard's way. At the very least, he was not supposed to be teaching _children_ Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But here he was nonetheless.

It was laughable. The job he had always craved had been his to claim. Thanks to his Order of Merlin and his recently upheld claims on the Prince family fortune, if he spent more gold daily than he could fathom, his vault at Gringotts would never find itself lacking. Witches of every type—including far too many sporting unnaturally dyed red hair, Merlin help him—flung themselves in his path, making their intentions all too clear. But along with these secular _joys_ , he overheard more and more whispers and noticed furtive looks stolen by passersby. And with each accolade after bloody accolade, with each unnecessary war hero's welcome, with each droning award ceremony, Severus became more and more restless. Disenchanted. And _lonely_.

After his surprisingly fast recovery over the summer that allowed him to return to Hogwarts and assume the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor position, Severus found the things he had always wanted—position, wealth, attention—were his to exact from those around him. But attaining them—even though they had been so hard won—left his heart emptier than ever. So he treated each day much as the one before.

Actually, he had no idea what else he was supposed to do.

Severus rolled over in his bed and opened his eyes. His hair was stuck to the sides of his face, his heart was racing as if he had just run a Muggle marathon, and a pleasant post-climax high was reverberating in his groin. Remembering his dream, he groaned. _Again?_ She was pretty, but before this had begun, it had never occurred to him to think of her in that way. And he'd seen some pretty witches in his time as a professor at Hogwarts—some damn gorgeous ones at that—but he'd never, ever awoke to find one had breached his dreams. Just what in the hell Hermione _Fucking_ Granger was doing there, he didn't know. And that's exactly what he'd been doing to her in his dream. _Fucking_.

 _Merlin_ , he was a deplorable letch. If it ever came to light that he was lusting after a pupil—albeit subconsciously—they'd escort him to those vaulted wrought iron gates so fast that he'd probably escape _without_ a stoning. Unless they dragged him there, behind, say, a horse. Through the mud. Then they could stone him at their leisure along the way.

He turned toward the clock on his nightstand and realized that his underwear was a ruinous mess for the third time this week. He groaned again and hauled himself out of bed and into the shower, the feeling of warm spray on his back helping to lighten his sour mood. _Well, what the hell, I'm in the shower anyway_ …and he allowed himself to recall the most vivid dream of his life.

 _She was standing in an open door frame of a lovely little stone cottage, dressed in a rich green dress, cut with a deliciously deep V-neck. She was wearing, of all things, his grandmother's emerald pendant around her neck. She was beaming. He was without his frock coat, yet he didn't feel uncomfortably exposed; he reached out his hand to her and she walked towards him and took it, delight evident on her face. She curled her tiny fingers around his and pulled him back toward the cottage, looking up at him with her big, honey brown eyes. As they got inside, he leaned in to kiss her tenderly and whisper her name. Oh, the taste of her…of strawberries…chocolate… She reached up to thread her fingers in his hair and he proceeded to pull her toward the bedroom—their bedroom—and…_

Damn, he nearly went off again just remembering the lavender smell of her soft skin...her tongue, so urgent and deliberate in its exploration…the way she bit her lip when he entered her, closed her eyes and threw her head back as she hooked her legs around him, urging him further inside... What the fuck was wrong with him? He got dressed and willed his way to breakfast. Sitting next to the Headmistress would do him good. Take his mind off this ridiculousness. Encourage him to focus.

As he strode to the Great Hall, he realized that what was far more unsettling than the mind-blowing sex was the fact he was certain, absolutely _certain_ , that they were married in the dream, and—beyond that unfathomable thought—he'd been _content. He loved her_. He settled into his seat next to Minerva and started on his breakfast. He simply would not tolerate this. He'd fucking chug Dreamless Sleep for the rest of his life if he had to, but he would not, _absolutely not_ , allow himself to experience that dream again. Three times were three times too many.

The meal was going flawlessly—Minerva was chatting away about the upcoming Quiddich match and Slughorn seemed to be blathering about whom to invite to this year's Slug Club—he wasn't sure—until _she_ ambled in and sat down at the Gryffindor table alone. He turned to Minerva and pretended to be interested in her choice for Seeker this year. And then, as he felt _her_ gaze on him, he turned to meet her eyes. She looked down, her fair face deepening to a splotchy red. _What the fuck was that?_

That's it. He was going to the infirmary. He needed Madam Pomfrey and her Potion for Dreamless Sleep, right-the-fuck _now_.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione was hiding. Hiding in the library.

Hermione had always found that the table in the corner farthest from the entrance was the best place for such things. Standing in the Divination section, the table's condition implied it might be older than the school itself; its wood was long since rubbed smooth by decades of mercurial students; even its mottled grey colour called to mind its advanced years. Although the table spoke of unimaginable exploits having been planned across its polished surface— _just think of the things she discussed with Harry and Ron at this very spot!_ —it chose to remain silent, keeping its long time secrets with the grace of one far wiser than herself.

Regardless of what the table could divulge should it choose to, it remained the best place to hide: the Divination section was tranquil, secluded, and usually deserted. Truthfully, not many student devotees of that ancient art even knew where the Divination section of the library was. Didn't Divination students just use their _Sight_ to predict what would be on the end of term test? Who needs to visit the library to study when you've got that?

Setting her rucksack down, Hermione recalled her first Divination class and how Ron became nearly unhinged at Professor Trelawny's prediction that Harry would not survive the year based on some stupid tea leaves. She smiled at how this side of history made Trelawny's declaration even more ludicrous than it had seemed that day. How she missed Harry and Ron; she had sat at this very table more times with them than she could remember. Tonight, their absence was sharply felt, as if she could sense their loss in her bones. It wasn't like she hadn't ever spent long evenings in the library alone before, though. She just wished she had someone to talk to this evening. Or maybe someone to share the stalwart table with.

She unpacked her books and looked around. The library itself was as empty as the table. N.E.W.T.S. were a long way off for the seventh years, so far in the future they seemed only a remote possibility that may or may not come to pass. The agreeable evening weather and the Quiddich game tomorrow between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor claimed most of the other would-be studiers—why remain in the library when you can walk outside or enjoy a Butterbeer while picking apart the wisdom of every potential Quiddich play known to man?

Her roommates were part of the latter crowd, but their evaluation ventured far beyond the Quiddich game itself: earlier this evening in her dorm room, they had been strategizing on potential hook ups based on the game's outcome. Had Hermione not been repulsed by the content, she might have found their shrewd analysis to be quite… _brilliant_ , actually.

Nevertheless, she was not in the mood to hear it, especially after last night's fiasco of a dream.

So here she was. Tired, but resolutely avoiding her dorm room. She yawned and put her head down on the smooth surface to close her eyes, desperate not to dream of _him_ again…ever…well, okay, at least not _here_.

"Miss Granger, this is a library, not a four poster. Please return to yours." At Madam Pince's snipe, she jerked awake, wrenched out of the same delightful fantasy that had ruined her panties the night before. She felt her cheeks grow hot.

Hermione opened her mouth to apologize and found, to her abject horror, Professor Snape striding down between the stacks of books directly toward her. _Oh, shit! SHIT!_ "Miss Granger was waiting for me, Madam Pince. I'm certain her…extreme drowsiness was simply a matter of me keeping her idle for far too long."

"Very well, Professor Snape. Please ensure that it does not happen again. Libraries are for study, not slumber."

"Indeed, Madam Pince," he responded with a sneer as she strode away.

Seconds ago, her brain was picturing him with his hands pressed into her naked body as he took her from behind. Now he was standing beside her chair, regarding her barely awake, rumpled form with dark, unreadable eyes. She wanted to crawl under the table and… _die_. Hermione looked up at the buttoned up black coat of her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Why had he come to her rescue? And why was he even here? He started speaking before she could articulate a question.

"What brings you to the school library at this unfortunate hour…Miss Granger?" he asked in his silk voice after Madam Pince had retreated out of earshot.

He was talking to her; the butterflies in her stomach were exuberant. Perhaps she would throw up. Perhaps she would run away. Or perhaps she would start unbuttoning that raven coat, tangle her fingers in his hair and let him take her right here on this table. Instead, she swallowed, calling on her house's famous bravery. "I'm avoiding Gryffindor Tower, sir. Perhaps you recall what it was like to live in the dormitories, Professor Snape?" she answered, rubbing her eyes in order to avoid his.

"I have never had the…pleasure of seeing the inside of Gryffindor Tower, Miss Granger."

My God, the way he said _pleasure_. The butterflies in her stomach went from exuberant to bloody debaucherous. "Even so, you may imagine what it is like to live with hormonally crazed teenage girls who have nothing on their mind but…" She stopped. "Forgive me, Professor. I am usually up quite late, but I didn't sleep well last night," she added as an excuse, not looking at him, just as a vision of him moaning her name skittered across her mind. "Suffice to say that I find that I have little in common with my roommates anymore."

"I…see," he responded as if he clearly did not.

"What brings _you_ to the school library this hour, Professor?" she asked, trying to divert the conversation away from her own implication that she didn't have any desire for male companionship. According to her subconscious, quite the opposite was true. At least it was true for one particular male.

"Although I enjoy an extensive private collection, I do not have everything I need for reference. Infrequently, I must impose on the resources Madam Pince guards so graciously." The edges of his lips contorted into a disgusted curl. His infinitely dark eyes glittered.

"You are fortunate that have your own quarters for books—and privacy, Professor. I would give anything for that at this point." She gathered her belongings. "At least I can stay here until Madam Pince forces me leave each night."

"And what do you do when the library closes, Miss Granger?"

"I have no choice but to return to the dormitory, Professor."

He stood there for a moment, seeming to mull something over in his mind. He appeared to come to decision and said, "Miss Granger, I find that I do my best research late into the night. Should you find yourself in need of a quiet place to…study after library hours, apart from 'hormonally crazed teenage girls'", he said, sneering, "you may inquire for me at my chambers. I will be awake. My personal library may meet your needs for…research, contemplation, and, above all, privacy."

Hermione was stunned, but did her best not to show it. "Thank you, sir." Her stomach did another flip flop, startling the lewd butterflies into abject panic. What would it be like to see Professor Snape's private chambers? To be alone with him there?

"Good evening, Miss Granger."

"Professor."

Watching her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher retreat down the book-lined aisle, Hermione felt a little flutter of thrill. It almost felt like she had been asked out on a date.

* * *

Severus unbuttoned his black coat by habit with a growl of magic, stripped himself of it, and threw it over a chair with much more force than strictly necessary. _Damn it all to hell. What the fuck was I thinking?_

He stomped down the hall to his library to pour himself a scotch and dropped down into his favourite leather chair. Pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, he tried to figure out what had drawn him to the Hogwarts library in the first place. He had no idea. He simply felt driven to go for no reason he could discern.

 _And she was there._

More than that, what had made him speak up for her? Why did he have an overwhelming need to protect her, to rescue her from a colleague who was well within her rights to castigate her?

And even more than _that_ , what the fuck compelled him to invite her here, to his chambers? He always guarded his privacy fiercely. Almost none of the _professors_ on staff had even seen his quarters. And she was no professor, she was a student… technically, _his_ student.

He shouldn't have helped her. He shouldn't have stood close enough to smell the lavender in her hair. But when he had looked in her big brown eyes, he had found more than gratitude for rescuing her there. He decided he must have seen…interest. Curiosity, maybe. But nothing more. There couldn't be.

Hermione _Fucking_ Granger would never want him. She could never love him in this world, this reality.

After all, it was just a dream, dammit: a fictitious place where love was returned, where people could be happy. Where someone's past had no bearing on their future, where people were never broken by sadistic masters, where horrors beyond description were never witnessed. A place like that didn't exist. Not for him.

Besides, the last time he had let anyone get close, it had ended in disaster, and he'd been the cause.

He looked down at the potion in his hand, turning it in his fingers. Dreamless Sleep. Poppy hadn't even questioned his request; she made no comment other than to mention with some surprise that he hadn't any on hand himself. Perhaps everyone believed he suffered nightmares. He did, but he'd never used Dreamless Sleep. He managed to make the excuse that he had used all his supply and hadn't had time to brew more.

He vanished it with a word. If there was one place where he could be happy, where someone could love him the way she had in his dream—while knowing full well the horrors of his past—he wanted to go there. And never wake up.


	3. Chapter 3

The tiresome Saturday limped along, lunch arriving mercifully none too soon. After eating alone in the Great Hall, Hermione retreated to her dorm room, her one desire to read until she fell blissfully asleep in her four poster. That was, until her roommates spilled in, discussing schemes intended for mature audiences only. _I'm happy to review last night's planning session with all with you to make sure you remember who you've been assigned to shag in case it's slipped your vacuous minds._

"Let's meet back here in the room at, say, 1?" said Deryn, looking to her cohorts for agreement.

"Better make it closer to 2," Breen replied with a devious smile. "Ian's been needy lately."

Hearing her roommates plot to regroup later to share the night's exploits sent Hermione diving for rucksack to escape the current—and pending—sordid discussions and retreat to the safety of her favourite table in the Divination section.

As she settled into the table stationed in the library's back corner, she found herself restless, irritable, and bored. Becoming more and more annoyed just thinking about her roommates waking her up around 2 a.m., she came to a decision. _Well, I'm going to take Professor Snape up on his offer. I can stay in his library until they finish swapping this evening's stories and then go back to the dorm and sleep around 3. He did invite me, after all._ She gathered the books she had unpacked. Actually, it was nice to have a place to go on a Saturday night, even if it was to a private library that very likely sported no windows.

Not certain why, she returned to her dorm room to replace her school robes with a jumper and denims before heading downstairs. She checked her hair for the zillionth time in the mirror. _It's not like he'll notice my hair. I'm not going to see him, really—I'm going to use his library._

As she meandered carefully down the stairs to the dungeon, she began to doubt herself. Did Professor Snape truly think she would take him up on his offer of refuge? Did he really want her there? She found herself at his door before she realized it. Smoothing her hair, Hermione took a deep breath, and knocked sharply.

No one stirred inside. For a moment, she thought he wasn't there. Perhaps he was already asleep? Throwing back Firewiskys at Hog's Head? Enjoying titillating conversation over wine with another former Death Eater? Entertaining a stunning red-haired witch in the depth of his private chambers?

The heavy wooden door creaked open. "Ah, Miss Granger," he said in a silky as sin voice as if he were expecting her. She tried her best not to gape. Before her was the exact image of him from her dream: long sleeved white button down dress shirt, finely tailored black dress slacks, exquisite black dress shoes. He appeared…taller than she had ever remembered. Leaner. _Handsome_. But seeing him without his frock coat seemed…indecent. Decadent. She felt her face flush.

Hermione swallowed hard and struggled to speak. "Sir…" She swallowed again. "Sir, I wonder if you might allow me to use your library this evening. Sir."

"Of course." He said in a silky voice that should have been illegal, igniting the space between her thighs in ways it had never been before. Her jaw began to ache; she fought the urge to throw her arms around him and kiss him deeply—as she usually did. _What?_ He opened his door wide for her enter.

"I thought perhaps it was too late to come, sir."

"It's never too late to… _come_ , Miss Granger," he replied, a dangerous glitter in his black eyes. _Did he just...? No._ He seemed to make a concerted effort to pull on impersonal pleasantries, cleared his throat, and changed his tone. "I don't sleep well or often, Miss Granger," he said evenly. He turned to lead the way and she followed. Even though the dungeon afforded no windows, his chambers were unexpectedly open and airy. "Through here."

The hallway eventually opened up into an expansive library, lined floor to ceiling with books of every subject imaginable. Her mouth fell open. Hermione brushed a row of leather tomes tenderly with the tips of her fingers as she wandered into the room. The endless books, the smell of parchment, the fire, the leather chairs…she was certain she had died and been caught up in paradise.

"Professor, this is quite an impressive collection," she said reverently.

He raised an imperious eyebrow. "Thank you, Miss Granger."

He walked to a mahogany sideboard and poured himself a drink from a heavy cut crystal decanter. "I suppose I should refrain from offering you a brandy, Miss Granger, even though you are of age," he said sardonically as he took a large swallow and allowed himself to sink into an exquisite leather chair, locking his intense, obsidian gaze on her as she roamed the room. "I can hardly imagine how it would appear if a student were discovered in my chambers after hours muddled with drink." She saw the edges of his lips begin to curl, but she didn't know if it were in a sneer or a smile.

So much for the impersonal pleasantries from a few moments ago—they had given way to a man who looked like he might eat her alive. As she wandered around the room, he didn't take his infinitely dark eyes off her. This man was not the Professor Snape she knew; this was the man in her dream. Panic seized her. _Shit_. She'd forgotten about his talent. Had he used Legilimency to see her memories? Could he see her dream of him?

She forced herself not to think about his gift and focus instead on exploring the spacious library: the neat pile of parchment patiently waiting to be graded on a mahogany desk that matched the sideboard; the Persian carpet on the floor—authentic, if she guessed correctly; the intricate tapestries masking the rough stone walls of the dungeon; the heavy beryl-hued velvet drapes, the colour of his house, dividing the space been the library and a private room beyond.

"I retrieved many of the volumes from my library from Spinner's End after securing my current quarters," he continued conversationally, without further comment on the dangers of having a student in his private chambers at this unconscionable hour. He crossed his lean legs at the knee. She could see the black socks he wore. She found this curiously…sexy.

She cleared her throat. "It's an extraordinary room. Thank you for sharing it with me, sir."

"Indeed, Miss Granger," he replied, watching her over his glass of brandy as he took a swallow.

She unpacked a few books from her rucksack and settled into a soft leather couch across from him. He rose to retrieve the pile of parchment from the desk, placing it on a small table next to his chair. He began to unroll them one by one, scrawling comments in bold black ink as he read. She glanced up periodically to see a scowl on his face of varying degrees; she assumed it was proportional to the quality of the paper he was currently grading. The effect was surprisingly endearing.

The night wore on.

After hours had gone by, he cut the silence with a question, his silky voice barely above a whisper. "When do your roommates usually retire, Miss Granger?"

She glanced up from her potions book. "It depends, sir. As it's Saturday night, it's likely to be 2 or 3 a.m." She suddenly realized it was after eleven and made to pack up her rucksack. "I should be going, Professor."

"It's not necessary, Miss Granger. As I said before, I rarely sleep. And if I do…as of late, _dreams_ tend to make it… _unrestful,_ " he said with an odd look. "You may stay as long as you wish. You are not imposing." He got up abruptly and took his leave of the room before she could thank him.

As he left, she put her head down on the soft leather sofa. _I'll close my eyes for just a second…_

* * *

Severus returned to the library to find that Miss Granger had curled up and fallen asleep on his couch. _What to do now?_ He conjured a woolen blanket to place over her and ensured the fire was spirited enough to last for a while. He eased himself down into his favourite leather chair across the room from her and softened the lamplight by magic, allowing himself to openly watch her slow, deep breaths and study her relaxed, delicate features. Until his dream, he hadn't noticed her full lips, or the delicious curve of her breasts. Now those lips and curves were asleep on his sofa. What the hell was he thinking inviting her into his chambers? Should he wake her now? What would he do if she slept until morning?

Suddenly, a low, guttural moan rose from her throat, breaking the tranquility, startling him. He calmed himself—perhaps Miss Granger suffered nightmares from the war, much as he did. She moaned again; it was a husky, rough sound… _wait_ … _that's not the sound of agony_. Apparently Miss Granger was enjoying herself quite loudly on his couch. Embarrassed but unable to move, he found himself rooted to the chair as if he were some depraved voyeur. "Yes…" she panted in a ragged voice. "Please…" her unconscious form begged from his sofa, "more…"

 _Perhaps it's time to leave Miss Granger to her machinations._ He willed himself up from his leather chair and crossed the room, heading towards the entrance to the hall. As she continued to moan, he heard words escape her lips that stopped him cold: "Severus… _Severus!_ " she panted. _Merlin...that sounds just like…no, it couldn't be._ He felt the beginnings of an erection stir at the sound of his name. _Fuck!_

He turned back toward her and approached the couch. She was biting her bottom lip, which did not help the situation in his trousers. He collapsed onto the generous rug, supporting his back against the leather sofa, placing himself on the floor next to her prone body. He leaned his head back onto the seat of the couch, turning it so he could watch her. He could feel her quickened breath brush his skin; now she was smiling in her sleep. It seemed she had relished her…recent exertions.

It was then he saw the tear. A single tear traveled down her lovely face, yet her smile had not faltered. Then she said clearly, "Yes, I'm all right, Severus. I have never been as happy as I am at this moment. New wives are granted such frivolities. They are encouraged, even."

Then he _knew_.

And sitting on the floor next to her, he spoke aloud the very response he had given her in his dream: "Forgive me if I never encourage tears, joyful or otherwise. I much prefer your smile, Wife."

Her eyes snapped open. If she was surprised to find him—the physical, tangible him—parked on the floor so close to her, waking her with the exact words she had expected him to say inside her dream, she hid it well. She squirmed, still flushed and breathing slightly hard from the fantasy's end.

"Tell me about your dream, Hermione," he said, lowering his velvet voice to a whisper and using her given name.

She didn't answer, but instead stared at him with wide honey eyes.

"Tell me," he encouraged, softly.

She gulped. "You…you were there. You…I…we…" she stuttered then stopped under the intensity of his stare. She looked away.

"We were together," he whispered, with no trace of doubt whatsoever.

"Yes…" she said nearly too softly for him to hear, her face paling to white, her caramel eyes turning to his once more.

"You were wearing a green dress," he stated just as softly, "and an emerald pendant." Her eyes widened a little more. "You had a single wild white rose in your hair."

"And you were wearing what you are wearing now, standing against a stone wall near the entrance to a garden, with your arms crossed, watching me," she whispered finally.

"And I reached out my hand…" he encouraged.

"And I took it, and led you back into the cottage because it had started to snow," she said simply.

"And then I kissed you. You tasted like strawberries. And chocolate."

"Yes," she said faintly. "Then you led me into the bedroom."

"Our bedroom," he amended.

"Yes," she admitted. "And you called me Madam…Snape."

"I said: I love you, Madam Snape-"

"You said: I love you, Madam Snape. I always will." She said cutting across him. "And then you let my hair out of its clip."

"Yes," he said. "Then you threaded your fingers in my hair and kissed me."

"And then…" she stopped as though she couldn't speak it aloud.

"Yes," he said simply.

They were both silent for a moment.

"How…?" she breathed.

"I don't know," he admitted.

More silence.

"No Legilimency?" She locked her eyes on his, searching for truth.

"I swear it. I give you my oath."

She seemed to accept his answer in the silence.

"How many times have you had the dream, Miss Granger?"

"Three times. Once in my dorm, once the night I fell asleep in the library, and just now. It is identical each time." She paused. "And you?"

"Three," he said. "Last night was the third."

Again, silence.

She considered him with her caramel eyes and sat up on the couch. "Will you sit next to me?" she asked. He extracted himself from the floor and eased down next to her onto the chocolate brown leather.

"Hermione."

"Yes," she responded softly, keeping her eyes on her now trembling hands.

"Look at me, Hermione." She obeyed. "We must not ignore this. We cannot. We should not."

She nodded in agreement. "Professor, do you think this is our future? It also feels like it could be our past. Not that we have lived it before, but that we…know each other in that way already. Does that make any sense?"

"Yes. Perhaps it is our future. Or an echo of one of our many pasts, if you will. It matters not. It feels real enough."

"All I know is that I can't stop thinking about it. About you," she admitted.

"It is much the same for me," he responded. "But it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, Hermione."

"A quote from a philosopher of whom I'm unaware?" she said, smiling softly.

He huffed a laugh. "I'm afraid not. It's something our former headmaster was fond of saying."

"Appropriate in our particular case."

"At times I questioned his motives, but never his intelligence," he said wryly. He took her hand and softened his tone. "Hermione…" he said looking into her tawny eyes, "I think we should try." And he leaned in to kiss her, softly, tenderly—for the very first time.

Their lips met. It was all he could do to kiss her slowly, because she tasted so familiar, so much like home, he wanted nothing more than to dissolve into her quickly and completely. He had kissed her a million times yet never before; he had committed the feel of her skin to memory yet it felt brand new to his fingertips; he knew their pace, the cadence of their lovemaking—but at the same time, the very fact that it was familiar shocked him to his core.

His hands found themselves unhooking the clasp on her robes and touching her through her jumper; he felt her fumble with his shirt buttons.

He broke away. "Hermione…I…we…" He took a ragged breath. "We should slow down…"

She responded by covering his lips with her own and threading her fingers in his hair, kissing him more urgently than before. She climbed on his lap, sitting on his thighs and facing him, pushing her sex into his own need for her. He moaned. "Hermione…" he whispered, "I won't be able to stop."

She smiled around her kiss. "I can think of no reason to, Severus. It's not like this is our first time."

In response, he warded the door.

Hermione leaned back and pulled her jumper over her head. Under her jumper, she was clothed in a soft white t-shirt; he put his hands on it immediately as if it was his alone to possess.

"Nox," he murmured, dousing the lights in the room, leaving only the firelight, the concentration required for wordless magic beyond him at the moment. He drew her towards him, kissing her even more urgently, then abandoned her mouth to bite her neck. She threw her head back to give him more of it to explore.

After she granted him a taste, she turned her concentration on the buttons of his white shirt, and after they were undone, she tugged at the buckle on his black belt, finally freeing the leather. She shed her shirt as he shrugged out of his own. Laying his hands on her warm skin, he touched her as if doing so imparted to him all that was necessary for life.

She withdrew from a kiss and unzipped his trousers slowly, gazing at him with her big brown eyes, bold with desire. She stood to remove her trainers, socks, and denims and he discarded his own, kicking his trousers out of the way. As she resumed her position sitting on his lap, he felt her warmth; he deftly unhooked her bra and tossed it away. He might not make it; if this dragged on any longer, he might have to rescind their tacit agreement not vanish any clothing. Panting, he reached down with his forefinger to tug on the waistband of her panties, signaling her to remove them. She lifted herself off him and they both discarded all that was left between them.

Without a word, she locked her brown eyes on his and lowered herself onto him, positioning herself so perfectly that he entered her without any effort at all. She gasped and bit her bottom lip; he hissed through clenched teeth. "Slowly, Hermione," he begged as he felt her softness surrounding him. She started to move. She leaned in to kiss him slowly, deeply. "Severus…" she breathed around her kiss and with that, what little control he had vanished into the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced.

They stilled themselves, panting, eyes locked.

She leaned in and snuggled her head into his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. The only sounds were the crackling fire and their breathing as they recovered.

"Hermione…" he whispered, and she looked up at him in response. "Let's move to the other room."

He took the blanket he had used to cover her earlier and wrapped it around her. Grabbing their clothes, he picked her up and carried her down the hall to the bedroom. He placed her gently on his bed, still wrapped in the deep green throw, and tossed the clothes on a nearby chair. "I'll be right back."

Severus left her in the bedroom to retrieve a contraceptive potion from his potion store; returning, he found her sitting up on his bed. She had clothed herself in his white shirt, leaving it unbuttoned, its sleeves swallowing her whole, her hair a ridiculous mess, her eyes full of knowing. And desire.

He thought he might lose his mind just looking at her. His heart was already gone.

As he sat down on the bed next to her, he handed her the small phial. "Drink this." She glanced down at it and he saw recognition in her face; she downed it without comment. He leaned in to kiss her, one hand at the nape of her neck guiding her towards him, the taste of the potion still bitter on her lips.

He broke away. "You haven't said a word, Hermione."

"I'm afraid you wouldn't like what I have to say."

"I… see," he responded and dropped his hand. "This doesn't have to happen again."

She looked away for a moment then turned back to him. He could see her summoning her courage. She smiled softly. "I'd like it to." She locked her honey brown eyes on his and whispered, "I…I'm in love with the man in my dream. Somehow, although I don't understand it, I have always loved him and I always will. Are you that man, Severus? Because my heart says that you are. My mind tells me you are. And I believe you are. And if you are, that means I'm in love with you."

He was so stunned, he couldn't speak.

"See? I told you that you wouldn't like it," she added softly.

"Oh, Hermione," he breathed. He would have never imagined saying what he said next. The words felt alien on his tongue, yet his heart compelled him to speak them aloud, because somehow—he didn't know now—he had said to her them many times before. "I feel like you have been mine forever, but…"

"…it feels brand new," she finished for him.

Both were still for a moment, looking at each other.

"I still don't understand," she whispered.

"We may never understand it," he said, "but that doesn't mean we can't embrace it." He leaned in to kiss tenderly her then, breathing in the essence of her. "There is nothing but you."

"There has never been anything but us."

They moved towards each other to kiss tenderly; he caressed her with his fingertips, and his shirt fell back off her shoulders. "You are so beautiful," he said around his kiss and leaned her back on his bed to make love to her, the woman who had invaded his dreams, who was now in his bed.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** This is a rough chapter, readers. Our Hermione lives with some pretty difficult roommates. These are characters of my own design...think Lavender Brown on steroids...

* * *

The door banged open and Hermione's roommates tumbled into the dorm room, all perfume and hairspray and rucksacks, chattering on about their current and prospective conquests. The book bags they tossed bounced onto their respective beds, mimicking the energy in the room.

"How's Gregory, Deryn?" asked Trista, shedding her maroon-tipped school robe and flinging it towards her bag.

"He's simply scrumptious," Deryn responded dramatically to giggles all around. "I'm meeting him later in the closet by the Charms classroom."

"Ian is a far better shag, Deryn," Breen cut in analytically. "Trust me. You should take _him_ to the closet next time."

"Hey, look who's here," said Trista, looking over her shoulder.

The three girls turned to gape at Hermione, who had been curled up in her four poster, reading. They approached her as a pack and sat down surrounding her on her bed uninvited, effectively trapping her.

"Ooooh, Hermione, you're home. You're neeee-ver here," commented Deryn. "Where are you all the time, anyway?"

"In the library, studying," replied Hermione flatly.

"You always look so tense. Too much work and no play," said Deryn with a devious smile.

"Hermione just needs a good fuck. Maybe then she'd be a little more relaxed," said Breen over Hermione's head to the other two, as if Hermione were not seated between them on her bed.

"She can have Gregory when I'm through with him," said Deryn giggling, still talking as if Hermione weren't there.

"Yeah, once you've had Ian, you won't want Gregory any longer," said Breen to Deryn with a wide smile.

"Well, obviously Hermione needs someone who'll break her in gently, because you haven't before, have you?" asked Trista, finally staring right at Hermione, mock sympathy in her voice.

"I can't see how that's any of your—" Hermione started, indignant.

"Hey, let's suggest some blokes for her to shag, eh?" said Breen to the other two.

"Too bad Lockhart's gone. I bet he'd break you in gently," Deryn snickered, turning on Hermione.

"I think he'd have been a nice fuck, actually," mused Breen.

"You think _anyone_ would be a nice fuck," Trista sniped.

"What do you think about Flitwick, Hermione? Probably a bit of an easy go for your first time considering his size." Deryn teased. "Or perhaps Slughorn. That is, if he's not so fat that he can't see where to stick his wanker."

"Oooooo, I know. How about Snape?" Breen asked, her green eyes bright, somewhere between joking and serious.

"Yeah, Hermione, what do you think about losing your cherry to that greasy dungeon bat?" Trista said snarkily.

"I bet he leaves an oily stain on his sheets," said Deryn, with a look of disgust on her face.

"Do you think since he was a Death Eater that he's all whips and chains and whatnot?" asked Breen wistfully.

"I doubt you'd enjoy that much, Hermione," said Trista, turning toward Hermione again.

"I don't think you should—" began Hermione, her face hot.

"I don't know. A nasty shag like that might be just what she needs," mused Deryn.

"Well, I think I'd volunteer for a go at office hours with Snape," said Breen, matter-of-factly.

"You'd volunteer for a go at office hours with anyone," Trista said snidely.

"Ewwww! He's disgusting. Just think of his nose," added Deryn.

"Maybe the size of his nose give us some indication of the size of his cock," commented Trista. "And if that's true…"

"Exactly my point. Something tells me he'd be a fabulous shag. Ob…vious…ly," Breen said, lowering her voice to mimic Severus's velvet tone. Deryn and Trista giggled.

"If you think—" started Hermione again. They ignored her.

"You think he's an animal in bed, Breen? Maybe he's gentle as a lamb. The opposite of the way he is in class. Some men are like that, you know." Trista said.

"My money's on savage. What do you think, Hermione? You think Snape would fuck so hard he'd rattle your teeth?" asked Breen, laughing.

"That wouldn't bother her, her parents are dentists," quipped Trista.

"I bet he'd whisper sweet nothings as he took your virginity," whispered Breen to Hermione in a voice loud enough for all the girls to hear. "But I'm guessing he only shags red-heads. He fancied Harry Potter's mom, remember?"

"Ever the romantic," said Trista, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, I'm afraid you're just not old Snapey's type." Breen ran her eyes over Hermione disparagingly. "Too short." She grabbed a strand of Hermione's hair. "And the wrong hair—it would need to be straight and red. Your eyes are the wrong color too."

"No great loss. There's always Gregory, Hermione," said Deryn.

"But I've got a fair chance, don't I, ladies?" Breen continued proudly, flipping her smooth, long red hair over her shoulder to the front. "I'd bet Snapey'd want a taste of me. And since I've so much experience in the art of lovemaking," she said with a laugh, "he'd beg me to fuck him into next week."

"I think I'm going to puke," commented Deryn.

Hermione hung her head. _You're not the only one._

They got up from Hermione's four poster all at once. "Well," Breen said, obviously finished with Hermione and the conversation, "let us know who you decide on."

* * *

Grateful to be alone once more, Hermione curled up with her Arithmancy book just as a bewildered first year peeked in her dorm room door. "Are you Hermione Granger?"

"Yes…?"

"Professor Snape sent me to find you. He would like to speak with you. He's waiting outside by the Fat Lady."

"Eh…thanks."

"Hermione?" the first year turned back around, obviously nervous.

"Yes?" she replied as she got up from her bed to put on her robes and walk downstairs.

"He looks rather…anxious. He's pacing. I thought you'd like to know."

"Oh. Thanks."

She made her way down to the Gryffindor common room then out the portrait hole.

"Miss Granger…"

"Professor…"

"This way, please, Miss Granger."

They walked down two flights of stairs, turned a corner. He slipped into an empty classroom and she followed. "Colloportus," he muttered, turning to her. "Hermione…what is going on? I felt you were upset. Is everything ok?"

She looked at him with her caramel eyes and said nothing.

"Is something wrong?" he persisted.

"It's nothing, Severus."

He noticed her lip was beginning to quiver.

"Tell me."

"I…just miss you sometimes, that's all."

"Hermione, what happened?"

He warded the door and conjured a large leather chair. He led her to it, sat down, opened his arms, and invited her to curl up on his lap. "I'm here."

"Thank you," she whispered. "My roommates are arseholes, that's all. It's hard to deal with sometimes. I shouldn't let it bother me. I don't know why it got to me tonight, but it did. It's not a big deal, Severus." A tear tumbled out of her eye and made its way towards her jawline.

"I don't like seeing you cry."

"I wish I could tell them to bugger off. But really, I'm OK," she said, viciously wiping the tear away. "I just want this to be over."

"Soon, Hermione. Soon." He took a breath. "What did they say to you?"

She was silent for so long he thought she wasn't going to answer him.

"They were teasing me about not having any _experience_ , with, you know, and it got me thinking that maybe I haven't been able to please you in the way other women have or could…" she said finally.

"You more than please me. And certainly Weasley or Krum…" he trailed off, unable to finish what he was about to say, as if not articulating it would make it untrue.

"No, Severus."

He paused, digesting this new information. "Then, no one?"

"Just you," she whispered.

"Merlin, Hermione, you should have told me," he said to her, without reproach.

"There was no need. That first night, I just wanted to be yours. I didn't want to stop and I didn't want you to think about it," she said simply. "Besides, when was I supposed to fit it in?" she continued with a soft smile, her eyes glinting in the half light of the empty classroom. "After 'I just dreamed I'd shagged you senseless' or before 'I'm in love with you'?"

"Hermione." He took her chin in his hand and turned it upwards toward him. "We could have made that much more special."

"Severus, it _was_ special," Hermione whispered.

"What an honour," Severus whispered in reply, barely able to speak.

They held each other in the silence.

"So your roommates know of us?" he asked.

"No, Severus. They were just teasing me and suggesting wizards for me to bed. Your name came up amongst a few others."

He fought the clawing jealousy that wrenched his gut at her words, but said nothing. He sensed she was not finished.

After a few minutes, she said, "They said I'm not your type…" she looked down at her hands.

He huffed a laugh, his jealousy dissipating. "Certainly you don't believe that."

She gazed up at him, and he saw doubt and insecurity there. "I don't have red hair for one…"

"Ah…" He said, finally understanding, and spoke the one word that he thought might always be forbidden between them. "Lily…" Was there nothing her memory would not taint? Nothing the mention of her name would not ruin? Damn her existence, even beyond the veil. Damn his whole fucked up life.

Hermione looked away.

He was silent for a moment. Then: "Hermione, when you were a child, say nine or ten years old, did you ever have a crush on a boy?" he asked evenly.

"Yeah," she replied ruefully. "His name was Geoffrey. He was two years older and he went to my Muggle school. He lived down the street," Hermione replied. "I was completely smitten. He never even glanced at me. It's likely he didn't even know my name."

"Then you know why they call it a crush."

"Yeah, I do."

"Do you still fancy this boy Geoffrey?"

"I think of his memory fondly, but I don't fancy him any longer, of course. I haven't in years."

"And although you no longer fancy him, you would never want to see him come to harm, correct?"

"That's true."

"Then you will understand when I say I was devoted to Lily as a child, and I loved her in my own way, with all my young heart. But we were children. When the Dark Lord targeted her because of my actions, I did my best to help save her and her son. But all that means is that I never wanted anything bad to happen to her.

"Does the memory of her still consume me? Is she the paragon that I hold all others up to, the beacon I use to judge all others? The only woman I have ever been attracted to? The only person I could ever love? _No_ , Hermione. That would be like you saying you could never love anyone but your Geoffrey for your entire life.

"The memory of someone I loved as a child is something I cherish, yes. But her memory will never come between you and me. No one, and certainly no memory, will ever come between us, no matter the colour of their hair.

"The connection you and I share is something far beyond any experience I have ever had or could ever fathom. There is and there will never be another for me. You are my home, Hermione."

Hermione didn't respond but Severus felt the tension in her body dissipate at his words. "Severus," she whispered, saying everything she couldn't in just his name. Then, after a brief silence, she said, "How did you know?"

"That you needed me tonight? I'm not sure. But I was certain you did."

"I'm glad you came."

"Of course."

Silence clothed the room.

"Severus."

"Yes?"

"Is there any way I could…stay with you tonight?"

"I think that could be arranged."

They got up and he vanished the chair and removed the ward from the door. He kissed her hand, then let it go, feeling its loss sharply in his gut.

"Follow my lead if we encounter anyone."

"I will."

They crossed the hall and proceeded down the steps, toward the dungeon. Turning a corner, the portly form of Horace Slughorn suddenly appeared in front of them.

"Ah, Severus, out for a stroll this evening, I see," commented Slughorn patting his vast girth, "And Miss Granger."

"Horace," Severus responded in his most annoyed voice. "As you are undoubtedly aware, Miss Granger enjoys a great many special privileges as a returning _eighth_ year," Severus said maliciously and turned to Hermione with a cold stare. "However, while Miss Granger does not have to adhere all of the rules while she resides here, she must abide by the curfew imposed on the rest of the student body. I offered to escort her back to her dormitory lest she…find herself lost again."

"Commendable of you, Severus," Slughorn replied patting his gut once more. "Well, good evening, Severus. Miss Granger."

"Horace."

They continued their retreat towards the dungeons. "You were brilliant, Severus," she whispered. "But why didn't he point out that we were walking in the opposite direction of Gryffindor Tower?"

"Ah, _Miss Granger_ ," he responded with a sly smile. "Horace did not want us to notice where he was off to, so certainly he did not want to point out we were walking away from your dormitory."

"You were calling his bluff."

"In a sense, yes," he admitted. "I have found that works best with Slughorn."

They didn't encounter anyone else on the way down to the dungeon. Once inside his quarters, she breathed a sigh of relief and unclasped her robes, hanging them on a hook behind the door. He unbuttoned his frock coat using magic and removed it, hanging it next to hers. "Nox," he murmured, leaving only the light from the hearth in the library to see by.

"Come here," he commanded and she fell into his open arms, sighing once more. He brought her hand to his mouth to kiss it, then silently led her down the hall to the bedroom. "Incendio," he spoke to the fireplace and a lazy fire blossomed from the timbers. They both sat down on the bed, sharing breath, locking eyes. "Permit me to make love to you," he whispered in her ear; she replied only with a shiver and a slow, deep kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He began to slowly undress her, button by tiny button, finally laying her gently back on the bed. She gasped as his tongue met her nipples and his fingers stroked her sex. Locking his eyes on her brown, he searched them for a subtle, silent clue as to whether she found pleasure in what his fingertips were doing, yet he knew, Merlin, he already _knew_ what moved her the most.

And when she broke her stare, closing her eyes, throwing her head back and arching underneath him, he knew he had achieved what he set out to do, and willed his own body to wait until she had recovered from the pleasure rippling through her.

When he was certain the last of her climax had abated, he eased himself on top of her, slowly, languidly, fighting the desire to claim her quickly, the softness of her surrounding him at odds with own physical expression of desire. And when he finally moved to take her, she gasped, her eyes widened, and she whispered raggedly, "Severus…", and it was too much, far too much, for him to ignore. Unable to suppress his need to possess what had always been his, he drove himself inside her until he found he had emptied all that was him into the core of her soft body.

He turned to settle himself behind her and wrap his arm around her protectively, flesh to flesh, his chest lining the curve of her back. "I love you," he whispered into her hair, words foreign on his tongue yet familiar.

"And I, you," she said softly, sleep having nearly taken her.

"Sweet dreams, Hermione."

"Sweet dreams, Severus."

* * *

There weren't any windows to allow the sun to badger them awake. Severus opened his eyes to find himself tangled in his sheets, the still-sleeping form of Hermione next to him. Merlin, he loved the lavender and rose smell of her skin, her riotous hair was spilling over his pillow, her bare chest slowly rising and falling in peaceful sleep. He couldn't help reaching out to caress her shoulder. She opened her caramel eyes at his touch.

"Husband," she said, greeting him with a languid smile as she woke, rolling over towards his warmth, her eyes still mostly shut.

"Your hair, Wife, is a deplorable mess," he murmured in response, chuckling.

"And yours in not much better, Husband."

She seemed to suddenly realize her error. Eyes widening, she stammered, "Severus, I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I know we're not yet…I mean…we haven't…" she sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to…"

"Hermione, stop. It's ok. Did you not notice my response?" he locked his eyes on her. "It was automatic." He smiled more widely. "That will come, my love. Soon. Your words won't scare me away."

He moved to kiss her tenderly, smoothing her hair with his hand until she seemed at ease once more.

"As long as our hearts believe we're already bonded…" he said with a sly smile, trailing off to let her complete the rest of his thought.

"…perhaps we can start out the day as bonded people do?" she finished encouragingly.

"Exactly," he responded, easing himself on top of her small, soft body as she breathed his name. And in that one word, he heard everything that had ever been said, or could ever be said, between them.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione sat by herself at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall in front of her usual breakfast—toast and tea, trying to convince herself to eat it. After living in a tent with Harry and Ron subsisting on whatever they could scrounge, she'd never become accustomed to a lot of food again. It was all she could do to eat the crispy white slices of bread the elves faithfully delivered every morning. Hearing the day's typical commotion near the Great Hall's charmed ceiling, she peered upward. Owls of every imaginable size and colour were cascading down towards the house tables, much like autumn leaves on a windless day. It was time for the mail.

A parchment dropped on her lap. Hermione nearly toppled her tea onto her robes: she rarely got mail. She glanced up to see an owl from the Hogsmeade owlery soaring away from her towards an open window. Harry and Ron would have used Ministry owls, so the letter probably wasn't from either of them. Who would use the Hogsmeade post office, anyway? Curious, she opened the parchment.

 _You know what to do._

She did. Smiling, she scooped up her belongings and made for the entrance hall, allowing the tiny parchment to roll up in her hand. Until now, Severus had used first years to deliver notes to her. Clearly, he didn't want to chance this particular parchment falling into hands other than her own. The girls' toilet was closer than Gryffindor Tower, so in she went, shutting herself into a stall.

Surprised Severus would go to such lengths to keep the contents of a letter secret, she unrolled it and whispered the charm he had taught her that would reveal his true message.

 _My Beautiful Wife,_

 _Your absence has a presence. I need you in my arms. I am impatiently waiting for you here, to hold you, to kiss you, to make love to you. Come as soon as you are able after classes._

 _Always yours, in this life and all others,_

 _Severus_

She smiled widely: he had never written the word _wife_ in a message to her before. She brushed the ink tenderly with her fingers. She knew that they were not officially bonded in the eyes of the Ministry, but it didn't matter; she was his wife and he, her husband. She was tempted not to vanish the words but she knew she must; a few weeks before N.E.W.T.S. was not the time to alert the Headmistress and Board of Governors that a student studying for said exam was very likely sleeping with a professor.

After committing the curve of his handwriting to memory, Hermione reluctantly spoke the altering charm that changed the letter into a summons. The parchment transformed into assignment for detention with Professor Snape, should she need to produce a reason to head downstairs. An hour later, she was pushing the door to his chambers open, eager to have the promises written in his unveiled parchment fulfilled.

* * *

Hermione's visits to Severus's dungeon quarters had evolved into a daily affair. After the first week together, both realized they were much more content when they spent as much time together as they could, so every weekday, Hermione would go downstairs and wait for him in his chambers simply to be there when he returned after teaching for the day.

Tonight, Hermione was curled up on Severus's leather couch, snuggled up in a deep green woolen blanket. She smiled to herself—she had long since ceased teasing him about his choice in colour for nearly everything: the emerald green of Slytherin. The fire was roaring and she was…toasty. Comfortable. Content. Quite an achievement for a Friday evening in November.

Absentmindedly sipping his evening brandy, Severus lounged next to her on the couch, his long sleeve white dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck, absorbed in correcting a homework assignment from first years. He reached over to hold her hand, entwining his fingers in hers as he worked. Turning to her as he finished grading the last parchment in the pile, he said gently, "We need to discuss your attendance in my class, Hermione."

She had already guessed what he was going to say next. "I will miss going to Defense Against the Dark Arts," she said sadly.

"It's wise, Hermione," he said tenderly, brushing her cheek with his fingertips, "We should not be in the same classroom together. I have already informed Minerva that I am excusing you."

"Yes, I know it's wise, but it will make me miss you more."

"Just a few more weeks," he assured her. "Perhaps if you miss me more, you will be motivated to spend more time in my chambers. Perhaps even more time in my bed," he said with a sly smile.

"I don't know how that's possible, Severus, unless you have a time-turner around here somewhere."

* * *

Saturday morning greeted them, leisurely and unhurried, as was its custom. Hermione awoke to find Severus lying next to her, staring at her with a soft smile tugging his lips.

"Hi," she said, reaching out to caress his face, his morning stubble pricking the ends of her fingertips, fascinating her.

"Good morning, Hermione. How are you?" he whispered in his velvet voice, leaning in to kiss her gently.

"Happy, Severus. I love waking up next to you," she answered with her own soft smile, moving closer to his warmth.

"If you moved in with me once your N.E.W.T.S. are over," he said, putting his arm around her, "we could wake up next to each other every morning," he whispered.

 _So he's been thinking about this._ She smiled. Then: "Here? In your quarters in the castle?"

"No, I think not," he chuckled.

"Where would you want to live then, Severus?"

"I would like to purchase a cottage in Hogsmeade. I would prefer we live there while I continue to teach, assuming I continue on at Hogwarts. Minerva may well demand my resignation."

"So you are planning on telling her about us?"

"As a curtesy only," he responded evenly, "and not quite yet."

"I can talk to her and explain," Hermione offered.

"And what will you say, Hermione? That you fantasized about bedding me and thought to make it real? That I accosted you in my private chambers after claiming I had an identical dream? Or that we have already been bonded for longer than we can even recall? Which one do you think Minerva would choose to believe?"

"I see what you mean."

"My position here is of no consequence—I do not require this income. I only remained here as I had nothing else to look towards, and no reason to leave. My situation has changed considerably, of course."

"Will you want to stay in Hogsmeade if you aren't employed here?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not, Hermione. We can discuss it."

She snuggled into his shoulder. "I'm looking forward to waking up next to you every single morning."

"That will be indescribably pleasant," he admitted. She felt him take a deep breath.

"In the spirit of full disclosure, I need to inform you that I am an abysmal cook," Hermione said.

"Apparently, then, it is a good thing that I have designs on your body, and not your casseroles."

* * *

"Golden Snitch." Severus uttered the password that gained him entrance into the Headmistress's chambers, and strode up the emerging stone staircase for his scheduled meeting with her.

"Enter."

"Thank you for seeing me, Headmistress," he said evenly.

"Severus. Please sit." Minerva indicated a wooden chair across from the headmistress's desk. He settled himself into it.

"Thank you."

"Now, how may I help you, Severus?"

"Minerva, I'll be moving out of my quarters here at the castle come late November."

"Truly? The castle has been your home for years. Is something amiss? Something I can do?" she said as her eyes narrowed.

He chuckled. "Nothing is amiss, Minerva. Quite the opposite. I find that I would like to…pursue other endeavors while I am not in the classroom."

"Avoiding my questions as usual, Severus."

"As I am no longer Headmaster," he nodded in deference to Minerva but ignored her comment, "or Head of House, I can, as I understand it, reside where I please." There was no bitterness in his words. Having firsthand experience in both those positions, he had no designs on either.

"Severus…" Minerva began to form a question.

"I will be unable to disclose anything further," he responded in a tone that left no room for further discussion. She raised an eyebrow at him. "I will continue to teach…for now." He rose from his chair. "I will be looking for a small home on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It will be a simple matter for me to be present for the duties required. I feel it is time to open a new chapter, if you will."

"Very well," she sighed. "I wish you the best in your 'new endeavors'."

"Thank you, Headmistress," he said, turning to leave to head back to the dungeon, where Hermione awaited his return.


	6. Chapter 6

Like any other typical Wednesday, the main corridor running in front of the Charms classroom was crowded with students making their way to their final class of the afternoon. There was barely enough room for Severus to navigate through the throng. Shrieks echoed down the hall, and the mass of students pressed back into him. Peering down the hall over their heads, he could see someone had let off a Dung Bomb in the packed hallway. _Bloody idiots_.

Distracted by the disturbance down the hall, Severus hadn't noticed that Hermione was trying to get through the crowd directly in front of him. As she stepped back to avoid the crush of students, her trainers landed on top of his dragon hide boots, and her back collided with the front of his frock coat. For a split second she didn't move, and he nearly forgot to stop himself from automatically putting his arm around her to hold her there against him. He took a deep breath to enjoy the lavender and rose of her, his eyes closing in pleasure.

She pulled away, far slower than she should have. "I'm sorry, Sev…eh…my apologies, Professor," Hermione stammered, not looking in his eyes.

"See to it that it does not happen again, Miss Granger," he said in an odd voice.

"Yes, sir," she said, and he watched her turn and disappear into the crowd.

And of all his many regrets, all the choices he lamented, the one he had discovered just then might be the most unexpected and ridiculous of them all: for the first time in his adult life, he regretted that his frock coat was not roomier in the front.

* * *

An hour later, the Great Hall was hosting dinner, gloriously clothed in the orange and yellow decorations celebrating the fall harvest. Although the hall was a breathtaking sight, Hermione found herself unable to enjoy it. She sat, picking at her food, tapping her foot, antsy and distracted. _Where is Severus?_ She'd _literally_ bumped into him outside in the corridor a scant hour ago. He was missing from the staff table. Hermione could feel something was…wrong. Well, perhaps not _wrong_ , but askew, amiss…she wasn't sure what it was, but she was certain he needed…something? Someone, maybe? What was going on? Was he ok?

A fourth year Gryffindor she barely recognized was chatting away at her from across the table. She was too troubled to listen well. "And if Gryffindor wins the next Quiddich game against—"

 _'Wife…'_

She hadn't heard it, exactly. Rather she felt it, pulling at her mind, reverberating in her gut. It was as clear as if he were standing next to her. She did her best to answer. _I'm coming, Severus._

"Hermione, is there something wrong?"

"No, I…I just remembered something that I have to do. Will you excuse me?" she said, quickly grabbing her book bag.

"Sure. Maybe we could—"

Hermione didn't wait for the fourth year's suggestion, but instead tore from the Great Hall, slamming into a pack of Hufflepuff first years on the way. Once she reached the corridor, she ran all the way to the dungeon, arriving in a tumble to bang on his door. He opened it immediately, as if he were waiting behind it for her to arrive.

"I felt you call me…" she panted as she looked up at his tall form, curious. His black eyes were wild. Dangerous.

He wrenched her inside and buried his lips in hers, his need to have her both urgent and unspoken. She felt his magic ripple through her, warding the door.

"I'm going to touch you." He growled and kissed her again so fiercely that she had no chance to reply. She responded her agreement with her body instead, her hands unbuttoning his shirt as fast as she was able. He fumbled with her robes, nearly ripping clasp from the fabric before casting them away.

Ah, so it this was what he needed. Merlin, she loved it when he got so… _hungry_.

He pressed himself into her small frame, pinning her against the rough wooden door. Grabbing her wrists with his right hand, he pulled them over her head, imprisoning them against the wood. She smiled as he bent to bite her neck… _damn, I'm going to need some Dittany on that._ Another ripple of his magic vanished her clothes, and she gave a yelp of surprise. He gave no indication he even noticed. She felt the fevered skin of his chest cover her own through the open front of his shirt.

He freed her hands; she responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He moved to support her and turned to carry her down the hall to the bedroom without his lips straying from hers, his need for her obvious through the black fabric of his trousers.

A small fire lit the hearth, but otherwise no other light penetrated the bedroom. He set her down on the bed, and, still standing, he moved out of his clothes without taking his obsidian eyes off her.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice rough in the near dark. Feeling a rush of desire, she silently obeyed, turning away from him and rising onto his bed. He growled as his flesh met hers; she bit her lip to keep herself from crying out in pleasure. She felt him reach up to grab a handful of her hair as he gasped for air and called out her name; he shuddered and was suddenly still, collapsing next to her on the bed a moment later, spent.

He rolled onto his back, inviting her to rest her head on his chest. "Thank you," he whispered, out of breath, kissing the top of her head through her hair, and stroking it tenderly. He covered them both with a thick blanket.

"Mmmm…" she responded languidly, over his still-heaving chest.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Merlin, no, Severus. It was…amazing. My new favorite," she whispered.

He huffed a laugh. "Somehow that does not surprise me. I simply couldn't wait until tonight. I needed you."

"I felt you call me."

"Indeed," he said. "I felt you answer."

She smiled at that news and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"Hermione, we need to talk."

It was Saturday morning. The autumn weather had turned colder, the damp of the dungeon held at bay by the deep green woolen blankets surrounding them and the roaring fire in the bedroom hearth. Hermione was laying with her head on Severus's chest, as he softly caressed her bare back with his fingertips.

"Mmmmm… sounds ominous," she teased. "What about, Severus?"

"About after your N.E.W.T.S., Hermione." She lifted her head to look up at him but didn't respond. "About our future."

"Okay..."

"I know we haven't been together very long," he said seriously.

"True."

"And it seems we share a connection we cannot explain."

"Yes...we do," she agreed.

"And we have already agreed that you will move in with me after your N.E.W.T.S. are complete."

"Yes."

He paused. "I would like to make things more…permanent between us, Hermione." He took a deep breath. She gazed at him and he reached to hold her chin, stroking her face with his thumb. "I know you and I already consider ourselves bonded, and I am quite certain it is our destiny. As I find the thought of us officially married quite agreeable..." He cut himself off and dropped his hand. "Fuck, Hermione. Help me out." He said, dropping his formality. "I would like to…we should…I mean to say…let's marry, Hermione."

She smiled widely. "Yes! Let's! Under one condition, though."

"Name it," he said, relief permeating his voice.

"We get married the afternoon I complete my N.E.W.T.S. I don't want to wait. Even a day," she said, her eyes bright with anticipation.

"Done," he chuckled.

"Oh, shit! I forgot one other condition, damn it. Is it too late to amend our agreement?" she quipped.

"Hmmm…there may be a…penalty," he said in his best velvet voice, trying to bend down enough to kiss her neck.

"I guess I'll just have to deal with it," she said with a sly smile. She took a breath and said seriously, "I…I'd like a ring, Severus. A wedding ring."

"Certainly, Hermione," he answered just as seriously.

"And one more thing."

"Do your demands never cease, woman?" he teased.

"I don't want a big wedding. I want to go to the Ministry office to sign the bonding papers. No reception, no tents, no band, no revelers, no invitations. Just us."

"I'm crushed. My hopes are dashed," he cracked sarcastically.

"You'll just have to live with it, I'm afraid," she said in a faux sympathetic voice.

"I may need someone to help me recover from this unspeakable loss. Or at least distract me until I can no longer remember it," he said, expressionless.

"I can recommend someone," she parried.

"Indeed. I am only considering those with brown eyes and rather unruly hair," he said, twisting a particularly wayward strand in his fingers, a sly smile on his face.

"Apparently I need not apply," she retorted.

"It seems you have been without a mirror for some time. I'll make sure to install one in our new home. Perhaps one over our bed would suffice," he said, emotionlessly.

"Merlin, Severus, you are a pervert. A mirror over our bed? Garish. Tawdry. I would even go as far as to say vulgar, as well," she said in a playfully indignant tone.

"Perhaps a perfectly placed mirror will be my wedding demand as payment for my loss of a rowdy party in our honour."

She laughed. "I had no idea you'd be so exacting in your revenge."

"Compensation, Miss Granger. Not revenge. And trust me, you have no idea what you are missing without a mirror."

"That goes without saying."

He huffed a laugh. "I love you, Hermione," he said seriously.

"And I love you, Severus."


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione had never, ever enjoyed shopping for clothing. She could browse books until ancient bespectacled proprietors kindly asked her to leave—usually because the shop was closing for the evening—but dresses? Never. She had no patience for such frivolous things.

And even though she was shopping for her _wedding_ dress, today had been no different. She needed someone here to orient her, to help convince her she should be _savoring_ the process. Actually, she wanted her mom there with her, even if her mom would have insisted on a massive, extravagant white gown. Hermione forced down the sting of the last time she had seen her mom and dad and tried to repair their memories. She'd been orphaned by her own actions, but at least her parents were alive.

Still, she should have someone with her, right? Isn't that what girlfriends did, arrive in a pack to encourage the bride? To relish the hunt for The Dress? Ginny…Luna...God, she'd even settle for Harry, for heaven's sake. But how, how could she have explained to any of her friends that she must, absolutely must, find a very specific, short, green dress with a deeply cut neck that she'd seen in a dream? For her bonding ceremony? They would think she was mental.

Hermione tugged her jumper over her head with a sigh. She'd been so _certain_ , so very _certain_ the dress was real. But she wasn't going to find it. This was the last boutique she'd be able to search; N.E.W.T.S. were next Friday. She was out of time.

Hermione abandoned the discards in the fitting room and wandered out into the bright florescent lights of the London dress shop, taking her time meandering towards the door. A saleslady emerged from the back to put Hermione's rejects away, striding towards her with the four deep green dresses from Hermione's changing room hanging over her arm and a purposeful look on her face.

"Miss? It looks like you've finished with these, yes? I'm not certain what occasion you are shopping for but…" she glanced down at the dresses draped over her arm. "I happen to have a green dress that came in just this morning that you might want to see. If you give me a moment, I'll bring it out from the back for you."

"Certainly. Thank you."

The saleslady appeared a couple minutes later. "I'm afraid it didn't arrive in any other size, but I just thought I would bring it out to see if you might be interested in it. I may be able to order it in another size if—." She stopped abruptly when she saw the look on Hermione's face.

 _My dress._ Hermione tentatively reached out to take it as if she wasn't certain it wouldn't vanish at her touch. "Would you like to try it on?" the clerk asked.

"It's not necessary. I'll take it." Hermione replied softly.

The saleslady raised an eyebrow. "Lovely choice, miss."

* * *

"Thank you, Mr. Oswald. I appreciate your time." Severus reached out to shake the agent's hand as they walked away from a small cottage, the latest in a short list of properties Severus had browsed in the last several hours. Shopping for a new home in Hogsmeade proved more difficult than he had anticipated; there simply wasn't much to choose from around the small village right now. "Please contact me should anything else appear on the market."

Severus wasn't sure the cottage from the dream even existed, but none of the others he'd viewed today would accommodate their needs: at the minimum, he required a dedicated room for potion making and a garden. He preferred to be a bit removed from the center of town; he happened to also know his fiancé wanted a large fireplace in the bedroom. None of the residences he had viewed today had all the features they were looking for. Even if he never found the cottage from his dream, none of the homes today would work.

"Certainly, Professor Snape. It's been an honor to meet you. Unfortunately there's not much for sale in Hogsmeade currently. With some time, I'm certain we will be able to find a cottage that will meet your needs perfectly."

Oswald's final sales pitch was interrupted by a barn owl's delivery of a rather tiny parchment. "Oh! My apologies, Professor Snape…this is an owl from my agency…let me see here…" He opened the note and looked at Severus with an odd mixture of disbelief and overconfidence. "I have just been informed of a home that has gone on the market less than an hour ago. It seems to have the exact requirements you have requested. Would you like to take a look at it, Professor?"

"Indeed."

* * *

As Severus followed the agent out the back door of the modest stone cottage, he found it nearly impossible to prevent his dream from interfering with his present reality. As he glanced at the stone arch that opened up into the garden, he already knew how his upper arm would feel leaning against the cold grey stone; as he looked back on the door, his mind saw Hermione standing there, framed in the doorway, radiant in an emerald green dress.

More than all that, he knew the window in the sitting room would stick in the summer humidity; he knew the flue for fireplace in their bedroom would need to be replaced; and he knew the sound of her footsteps on its smooth wooden floor in the middle of a winter night. How he knew was beyond him. He'd lived here for years but never before; it was his home. Their home.

It was almost too much for him to process.

"I'll take it."

"Consider it yours, Professor Snape."

"I already do."

* * *

"Headmistress, may I…?" Severus had arrived unannounced, knocking and then peering around the door into the Headmistress's spacious circular office.

Minerva looked up from her parchment over her reading glasses. "Certainly, Professor Snape. What can I do for you?"

Severus remained standing and clasped his hands around his back. "As I'm sure you are aware, the last week of November is upon us. I will be moving my residence to Hogsmeade as of Friday afternoon."

"I recall our conversation."

"Minerva, I believe there is something else that may be important to…disclose to you as Headmistress."

"Go on."

"I will be getting married on Friday."

Minerva's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. "Well! Congratulations, Severus. I had no idea."

"Thank you, Headmistress." Severus didn't move. _Oh, what the hell…here goes._ "I am marrying a former student, Minerva. _A former student as of Friday afternoon_."

The Headmistress stared at Severus uncomprehendingly. "I don't understand. The only student at Hogwarts that—" Surprise, disgust, and indignation warred for control of her face. "Certainly you don't mean—"

"I mean exactly that, Minerva. Hermione Granger and I will marry come Friday afternoon after she completes her N.E.W.T.S. No one else knows of our plans or our engagement. I am informing you now as a…curtsey as you are Headmistress."

Minerva's lips were trying to form words, but no sound emerged. It was a marked improvement from her open mouthed gape from a moment ago, however.

"Severus…I…I have no idea what to say."

"Obviously."

"While Miss Granger is an adult and can make her own choices, I find this quite…irregular," she said, shock still reverberating through her words.

"Indeed." Severus locked eyes with the Headmistress. "I assure you that our…relationship did not commence until this year. If you wish to converse with her, feel free to do so. I suspect Miss Granger may… _enjoy_ discussing her pending wedding day with someone other than her intended," he smirked.

At that, Minerva huffed. "Her parents…"

"Have not recovered their memories from before the war. They do not remember her, despite the concerted efforts of Miss Granger, myself, and wizarding experts with years of deliberate study in the Obliviate charm."

Minerva was silent for a moment, collecting her thoughts behind thinned lips. "Regardless of the state of her parents, Miss Granger is too young to marry," she said with an air of finality.

"Is this your official opinion as Headmistress of Hogwarts? I will make note of it. Since it is irrelevant in the eyes of the Ministry. She is of age."

Minerva's eyes flashed. "Severus! You're going to marry a girl twenty years your junior? A former student no less? It is preposterous and I will not allow it," she said stiffly.

"Minerva, there is nothing you are able to forbid or disallow. If you prefer my resignation, I will tender it. Otherwise, leave us to our happiness," he said evenly.

Minerva stood up abruptly, eyes boring into him from over her spectacles. "Have you dishonored her?" she said sharply, raising her voice. "Is she—"

"I will not grace your question with an answer, Minerva," Severus cut across her with a dangerous whisper, focusing his most venomous stare on the Headmistress, "but I highly suggest that you do not finish your sentence." Then he said nothing more. _Give me a reason, bitch. I fucking dare you._

Minerva dropped down in her chair, then bent her head down toward her desk, holding her forehead up with her hand. "Merlin, Severus, how did this happen?"

"If I told you, you would not believe me," he managed through his fury.

"Likely not," she replied in a clipped tone, looking back at him once more over her square reading glasses. "Please do not share your news until Miss Granger has completed her N.E.W.T.S. There will be no need for you to resign your post. And, Severus…"

"Yes?" he bit out.

"Please tell Miss Granger that I am happy for the both of you," she said in a resigned tone, but earnestly nonetheless.

"Certainly, _Headmistress,_ " he snarled. Severus turned on his heel and left the Headmistress in his former office, and headed down to start packing his current one.

* * *

The Three Broomsticks wasn't particularly busy this particular Sunday, and for that, Hermione was grateful. A crowd would have frayed her nerves beyond repair. She felt a strange mix of trepidation and excitement when faced with the prospect of telling her best friend about her upcoming nuptials. After a few minutes of fidgeting in the booth, she looked up to see Harry Potter, with his familiar round glasses and unruly hair, entering the inn.

"Harry!"

"Hermione!"

Hermione stood to hug her best friend, doing her best to ignore the curious glances of the fellow customers. She'd never gotten used to the hey-look-there's-The-Chosen-One stares. She didn't know how Harry endured it. "Thanks for meeting me. How are you? How's Auror training?"

They sat down in the booth. "It's good. Not particularly difficult to be honest. More paperwork than I ever imagined, though. The Ministry is lousy with it," Harry responded with a slow shake of his head.

"Ugh. Sounds horrid."

"Butterbeer, Hermione?"

"Sure. Thanks."

Harry rose to go to the counter. Hermione noticed that he didn't have to pay—as usual. Being the savior of the wizarding world certainly saves a guy a ton of gold.

"So what's up, Hermione?" Harry asked, setting the frosty butterbeers on the table and sitting down across from her. "Your owl said you needed to tell me something important."

"I need you to not freak out," Hermione said carefully.

"Okaaay…"

She took a swallow of her butterbeer. "I'm getting married."

Harry peered at her over his glass, pausing before taking a drink. "Wow. Eh…congratulations, Hermione. Who's the lucky guy?"

"I need you to not freak out, Harry."

"You said that already." He took a drink, looking wary.

"Promise me. Promise me you won't yell, or try to talk me out of it, or tell me I'm making a mistake. Promise."

"I'll try."

She eyed him. That was all she was going to get from her best friend, apparently. She swallowed more butterbeer then took a deep breath. "I'm marrying Severus Snape, Harry."

Harry's face turned white and she saw that he was trying his hardest not to break his almost-promise. After a moment, he managed, "I…eh…have you told Ron?"

"Not yet. You're the first person I've told. No one else knows."

"God, Hermione, I have no idea what to say."

"How about: 'I'm happy for you both'?" she replied, stung.

"I…eh…when?" he stuttered, ignoring her suggestion.

"This coming Friday. The afternoon of my N.E.W.T.S. We don't want to wait," she said evenly.

"So soon? You're not…?"

"No, I'm not. What a thing to ask." Hermione bit down the anger that tore through her at his suggestion. So, the only reason Harry could imagine her marrying Severus was if she was pregnant? Was she so undesirable, so unattractive that pregnancy was the only reason someone would agree to marry her? What, was she some whore that slept with professors for the hell of it? _Arse_. She decided to place three words in the air between them to see what he would do. "I love him."

Harry was silent for a minute, chewing on this news. "How…?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Harry."

"Try me."

"Another time," she responded, unwilling to divulge anything more for now.

"Shit, Hermione." He took a large gulp of butterbeer. "Well," he said, composing himself and raising his glass, "congratulations to you and Profes—Severus."

At least he was trying. She fought the angry words that still lingered in her gut. "Thanks, Harry," she managed, the declaration of love for her beloved swallowed up by the silence that fell like snow between her and her best friend.

* * *

Hermione opened the door to Severus's chambers, set her purse down and wandered into the sitting room. At least Harry had asked her if she was pregnant and not assumed it. That was something, right? She plopped down on the leather couch next to Severus, exhausted from her earlier nerves and the lingering anger at Harry.

"How did lunch go?" he asked, looking up from the homework he was grading.

"It was fine, Severus," she said. "Actually, it was a relief to tell someone."

"What did Potter say?"

"Well, he had no idea what to say at first. He asked me if I was pregnant, then he offered his congratulations."

"That seems to fit a general pattern," he said with a smirk. "Did you hex him, my lovely witch?"

"No, but I wanted to." Hermione sighed. "Are you saying you didn't want to hex Minerva for insinuating the same thing?"

"I never said that. I came downstairs to contemplate which hex might satisfy me the most. I've still considering the merits of several." He reached for her and she settled into his embrace. "People need time to adjust to it, Hermione. To an outside observer, our relationship has progressed quickly. It hasn't seemed that way to us, but it seems like it to them. They are trying to explain it."

"I know. But I'd still like to hex him."

"I wouldn't stop you from hexing Potter, of course."

She laughed. "Of course."

He held her for a moment then whispered, "I found the cottage."

"Is it…?"

"Yes," he replied, and found it was all he needed to say.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione tossed down her quill as the examiner called time, signaling the end of her N.E.W.T.S. As of this moment, this very moment, she was no longer a student at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She smiled widely. _It's done…finally, done._ She had always planned on leaving Hogwarts the instant her N.E.W.T.S. were over. Now she was about to keep that promise to herself. Now she was free.

Free, but soon to be bound. Deliciously, permanently, joyfully _bound_.

She descended the steps to his quarters, trying her best not to run, knocking softly on the door to his chambers.

"Come." His familiar velvet call sounded from deep within.

She pushed the door wide, wandering among the rooms, taking in the vacant bookshelves, the bare flagstone floors and barren, rough, grey stone walls. Somehow, with everything absent, the rooms appeared smaller, cramped, confining…darker. It was strangely eerie; there was nothing left here of the man she loved. "Is everything packed?"

Severus smiled at her. "Yes," he said as he pulled her into an embrace. "How did it go?"

"About as I expected," she said, replying with her own smile. "Are you ready to go?"

"Indeed." He bent to kiss her softly.

Severus gathered up her tiny bag and his larger leather one, and offered her his arm. They left his quarters and proceeded upstairs from the dungeon; this time, for the first time, she kept her arm linked in his as they walked through the halls and out onto the grounds towards the imposing wrought iron gates. Her pulse quickened as some students did a double take. She returned their stares with a bright smile. No longer a student, finally, she could lay public claim to this man, and he, her.

Those that did the double take would just have to get accustomed to seeing them together. There would be occasions when she would join him here at Hogwarts; at the upcoming Yule Ball, for instance. She knew what they would think. But she didn't care. She didn't need to justify her choices to anyone, especially when it was so perfect. So stunningly right.

"Shall we walk or Apparate?" he asked as they approached the boundary of the Hogwarts property. The fickle but warm afternoon sun was beginning to wrestle with the wind for control.

"Walk, I think," she said. "We have plenty of time. If you don't mind, Severus."

"I don't mind at all."

"I can't believe today is really here," she remarked.

He chuckled. "Indeed, _Miss_ Granger."

"I'm afraid you won't be able to call me that much longer," she said, beaming up at him.

"Not if today goes as planned," he conceded.

"Indeed," she replied, teasing him with this own favourite reply.

As they approached their unassuming home just outside the village, she noticed its trees were no longer decorated with the vibrant leaves of autumn. She could imagine the scene as it appeared earlier this month, when Severus had purchased the cottage, surrounded by brilliant leaves celebrating in exuberant yellow and riotous orange. Now, its trees were bare, and she found instead the emptiness spoke of promise and potential. And that was beautiful.

She set her bag down inside the door and looked around. Severus had found the time to put everything in its place in the days leading up to her N.E.W.T.S.: the Persian carpet and the leather couch in the book-lined study; the Slytherin-green velvet curtains, chocolate leather chairs, and mahogany sideboard in the sitting room; the tapestries lining the hallway. She wondered if he had remembered their banter about the mirror above the bed. If she knew her soon-to-be husband, he had.

It was time for her to dress for their bonding ceremony at the Ministry of Magic. "I'll just be a couple minutes," she said and retrieved her bag, taking it into the bathroom with her. Setting her bag on the counter, she noticed a large black velvet box; she opened it to reveal a stunning emerald pendant on a thick chain. She gasped.

"You found it," she heard him remark from the bedroom. "Come here, Hermione." She brought it out of the bathroom in trembling hands. "It was my grandmother's. It is one of many Prince family heirlooms that now will be yours to possess and enjoy." He placed it around her neck and she turned around and lifted her hair so he could clasp it.

"You recognized it, from the dream," she whispered.

"Of course."

"You never told me. It's incredibly beautiful, Severus."

"It is nothing compared to you."

"Thank you." She said softly, as much for the necklace as for the compliment. "Wait here…" and disappeared into the bathroom to pull the green chiffon from her tiny bag. She clothed herself in it and emerged slowly, her eyes locking on his black ones, whispering, "I…found the dress."

He didn't speak for a moment, looking at her appreciatively. "Obviously," he said finally.

"It was by accident, actually. I had given up hope of finding anything at all. As I was leaving the last shop, the saleslady brought it out of the back. It had arrived that morning and it was the only one like it. It fit perfectly." Hermione smiled. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"You look ravishing." He leaned in to gift her with a deep, passionate kiss.

"If you keep kissing me like that, I'm afraid we may not get to our afternoon plans," she teased. In reply, he kissed her again without comment. "Well, I suppose we could be a little late…"

"No, my delicious witch. Ceremony first," he said around a sly smile. "But before we go, I have something else for you," he turned to look at her tenderly. "I promised…this." He handed her a small box for her to open. Perched inside was a brilliant diamond ring, framed with emeralds and rubies, colours of their houses.

"You found it," she whispered.

"I found you," he said in a silky voice. "Nothing else matters."

He captured her left hand in his and slid the ring gently on her third finger. She gazed at it, and fighting the prick of imminent tears, fell into his embrace.

* * *

After waiting a small queue at the Ministry of Magic, it was their turn to sign the bonding paperwork. When it was completed, Severus rose and reached for her hand. "Well, Madam Snape, shall we?"

"We shall…Husband."

Upon arriving back at the cottage, Severus unbuttoned his coat with magic as Hermione lit the fire in the sitting room. She turned to him with a smile, and said, "Give me a minute to freshen up."

"Make haste, Wife," he responded in a husky voice, staring at her with an intensity that she had never quite seen before. "I am a patient man, but right now I have an overwhelming need to bend you over this table and fuck you very, very hard. After, of course, I will insist on taking you to our bed and tenderly sealing our marriage bond." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Hurry."

Hermione felt her cheeks grown hot, her stomach drop and her breath quicken. His soft velvet and silk voice never ceased to have that effect on her, especially, oh _especially_ when he said things like that. "I won't be long."

Severus strolled out the back to wait, a sly smile on his face.

As Hermione returned to the kitchen, she noticed a school owl—and two others—outside. As she approached, she could see one was Errol. She cracked the window to admit them and the birds dropped their packages on the counter and left out the open window. Perhaps they had been tipped already by those who sent them. Through the curtains, she could see the sun had lost its battle with the wind. It was turning out to be perfect afternoon to be snuggled up in bed with her new husband.

Hermione opened the large and oddly shaped package from the Hogwarts school owl first to find an arrangement of white tea roses and a note from the Headmistress: _Congratulations, Severus and Hermione. Warmest Regards, Minerva._ The second bird—one she now recognized as a Ministry owl—had left a wrapped bottle of champagne and a note from Harry that read: _Enjoy! All the best, Harry_. The third package, brought by the battered Errol, was obviously from Ron; inside was a scrawled note with the words: _Best of luck to you both, Ron_ with a box of chocolate covered strawberries _._ _I guess Harry told him._ Hermione plucked a rose from the arrangement and absentmindedly placed it in her hair, as she bit into one of the strawberries. _Best of luck, huh? Ron was always such a bastard._

Glancing up at the sky through the kitchen window, she noticed it was just about to snow. She wasn't going to make her husband wait any longer.

She emerged out the back door to find Severus standing arms folded and ankles crossed, leaning on the stone archway that led to the private garden. A few snowflakes had begun to drift down from the sky. He reached his hand out to her and she crossed to take it. His hand. Her husband's hand.

They strolled back into their cottage; he kissed her as she threaded her hands in his hair to respond in earnest. He led her by the hand to their bedroom and said, "I love you, Madam Snape. I always will." And, smiling around his kiss, he reached up to release her hair from its clip.

He settled on top of her body tenderly, and slowly, gently, sealed the bond that had always been theirs.

 _And she cried out his name as pleasure overtook her. They collapsed on the bed, and she turned to him. It was then he saw the tear. A single tear falling down her lovely face, yet her smile had not faltered._

This time, he saw that she was gazing down at her wedding ring.

" _Are you all right, Hermione?"_

" _Yes, I'm all right, Severus. I have never been as happy as I am at this moment." She looked in his eyes as another tear threatened. "New wives are granted such frivolities. They are encouraged, even."_

" _Forgive me if I never encourage tears, joyful or otherwise. I much prefer your smile, Wife."_

And both drifted off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, their dreams already reality.

* * *

 **Epilogue:** **Five Years Later**

 _Severus approached the cottage on the well-worn path that snaked back from the center of the village, hands full with several bags of sweets from Honeydukes. A warm spring sun met the flowers where they stood; he stooped to pick a few of them from the side of the stone path that led from the fence's gate to their front door, conjuring a vase and filling it with water before placing them in it. He knew how much Hermione loved the fragile, delicate blooms that called to mind the wildflowers that graced the lake where they spent their summers. He had planted these dainty flowers here last fall, not knowing then that they would help her through the bittersweet spring as the Snapes waited for summer to arrive._

 _As he bent to gather the blooms, he noticed the fence needed stain once again; the apple trees he had planted three years ago needed to be pruned; the side garden had emerged, its hardy growth a testament to the ample rainfall the early spring had brought._

 _He was thankful. Thankful for the fence to stain, the trees to trim, the perennials that spring rain had awoken once more. Thankful that these simple things were calling to him, grounding him. He needed to be grounded. Without these simple, tangible things, life felt far too brittle and fleeting. Made of a wisp of smoke. Merlin, he had nearly lost…her. He swallowed, beat down the nausea that grappled with his stomach, and forced the raw pain and the memory from his mind._

" _Hermione?" he called into the rooms, when he did not see her immediately as he opened the door._

" _Out back, Severus," came her thin reply._

 _He set the packages on the countertop in the kitchen and followed her voice outside the back door. "You weren't supposed to get up while I was gone," he admonished, although there was no heat in his words._

" _I know, Severus," she conceded. "It's just that I'm so tired of staying in bed and the sun is so warm today. I wanted to sit outside with her."_

" _Allow me," he said, and bent down to collect the tiny bundle from his wife, relieving her of the squirming mass that had nearly taken her life. His life._

" _You must rest, Hermione. You know this. If I must, I will invite Poppy for another visit to speak some sense into you," he insisted, temporarily ignoring the miniature hands reaching up for his face._

" _You wouldn't," she said with a tired smile as she rose unsteadily to walk back into the cottage._

" _I would," he said, holding the back door open for her and not returning her smile._

" _You worry far too much, Severus," she said. Hermione made her way slowly to the sitting room, weakly settling herself down on a cushioned rocking chair, raising her arms to receive the bundle from her husband. "I'll take her now," she whispered._

 _After handing Rowena to Hermione, Severus walked to the kitchen to retrieve the flowers, sweets, and more_ _Blood-Replenishing Potion; he_ _brought all of it into the sitting room, placing the blooms on a nearby table and handing her a glass of the deep red liquid. "Drink."_

 _Hermione smiled tiredly and did as her husband bid her._

 _Severus looked down to notice Rowena had begun to drift off to sleep. Hermione followed his eyes down to stare at their newborn girl; as she continued to stare, a tear travelled slowly down her face to meet her lips. She smiled and looked up at Severus. "She's so beautiful," she whispered._

" _Indeed," he replied, gazing only at his wife and brushing her tear away, "indeed."_

Severus awoke and turned to look at his wife. Hermione still slept by his side, but a single tear was moving down her face as she smiled. A moment later, she awoke. She simply stared at him, eyes wide, unmoving.

"Did you…?" he asked softly.

Hermione continued to smile, the answer obvious in her honey brown eyes.


End file.
